It happened just the other day!

I see her sitting there; she is all by herself now. This morning several others surrounded her, but as the day wore on they left her. I am trying to decide if she is sad and lonely, or just resigned to her fate. No, it can't be loneliness, not with that perfect shape which was made to tempt and she looks so sweet. If only things were different, I would take care of her.

Wait! The door opens and a cold wind blows in, with it comes a rather large old woman. She eyes her suspiciously but says nothing. We all stay very quiet. After about five minutes the door opens again, in comes the cold air but out goes the woman., shutting the door after her with a tinkle.

I think we all breathe a sigh of relief as the status quo is maintained. Outside we can hear the sound of Christmas Carols and it brings a feeling of peace to me. I look across at her; she seems unmoved by the sounds. Maybe she has shut them out and is concentrating on her own inner thoughts. Am I imagining it? Has she noticed me? No, probably just a trick of the light, but for a minute I thought I had seen her turn to look at me.

She's been sitting there for over seven hours now. Has she begun to sag a little? Probably not, it is just my fascination for her. She has been sat there in isolation for nearly two hours. People pass her by with hardly a glance, but to me she is a thing of beauty and wonderment.

The door opens again; another icy blast enters along with a small boy and his mother. The boy is screaming and shouting. He starts to point at her and screams some more. She just sits there totally unmoved, seemingly oblivious of her surroundings.

The woman is trying to quieten the boy but to no avail. He just keeps pointing at the object of my desire and screaming louder. I can't stand the noise, it is getting me very agitated, but she just sits there totally untouched by the events. The woman is getting very flustered by now and speaking to someone. I close my eyes, trying to blot out the events.

I sit there waiting for peace to return, and suddenly realise that it had. I open my eyes and look around. Then, there, oh horror! The small boy is just stuffing her into his mouth with a look of pure bliss on his face. I close my eyes again, if I could cry I would, but chocolate soldiers are not made to cry. When I open my eyes again, the small boy is leaving with his mother. Wiping the remains of the last Mince Pie in the shop from his bloated face. Never mind good will to all men, I wanted to kill him.
"So. Where were you tonight?"

"I've told you..."

This kind of talk extended all through their meal and then they lapsed into hostile silence. In bed the silence was maintained until, at two in the morning, Brenda switched on her bedside lamp and sat up. Philip pretended to be asleep but the exaggerated sighs and, eventually, sobbing of his wife forced him to respond. He sat up in bed, and said wearily; "I have honestly told you the truth."

Brenda blew her nose into a handkerchief and shook her head vigorously. "You haven't. I know perfectly well that you haven't."

Philip threw back the bedclothes. "I'm going downstairs to make some tea. D'you want a cup?"

"I might as well, I certainly can't sleep."

When he came back into the bedroom with the tea he said; "There was no puncture. I went for a couple of pints with Craig."

Brenda was crying again. "Why couldn't you have told me that at the time?

"I lied because I was scared to tell you I was going for a pint. And you know, Brenda, it's a hell of a state of affairs when a man can't tell his wife he's going for a pint."

"Why do you have to go drinking? What's wrong with your home, what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing. But what's so wrong with going for a pint with a mate? Here, drink your tea and lets get some sleep."

A few days later, and quite co-incidentally, they were invited by Craig and his wife for drinks and supper. Philip spoke to Craig one morning just as they were leaving the depot to start their calls.

"There's just one thing I ought to mention, Craig. You remember that business the other day when you had a puncture?"

"Yes?"

"Well this is going to sound daft but...in case Brenda brings it up...it didn't happen. We went for a pint, you and me."

Craig regarded him blankly. "Eh?"

"Don't ask me to explain, just remember if Brenda brings it up. There was no puncture, we went for a pint."

When he arrived home that evening Brenda was taking up the hem of the dress she intended wearing to the Watson's the following evening. She was cool towards him but there seemed, nevertheless, to be an improvement in her mood of the past few days. By the time they went to bed there had been some small talk. In bed he risked slipping his arm around her waist and was surprised when he felt her hand seek his own.

"You know, Philip," she said, "there are times when I think we really could make it together again. It isn't easy for me because I've been so terribly hurt . But if you'll try, so will I."

Philip was delighted. "Well, God knows, I can't ask fairer than that."

"Just stop telling me lies, Philip."

"I will, I will, I promise."
"That's good. You can start by telling me the truth about the other night then. You've admitted that there was no puncture and I don't believe for a minute that you went for a pint with Craig Watson. So where were you?